


Mind and Body

by acacia59



Category: The Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acacia59/pseuds/acacia59
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you are someone who thinks too much, the hardest thing is just letting yourself feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind and Body

 

 

You think too much, he had told me, the little line of worry forming between his eyebrows that I couldn’t help but find endearing. I don’t quite remember what had instigated the comment or what I had replied, probably laughed and tossed off some casual insult about how he doesn’t think at all. If I had, he had probably frowned deeply, turned away and shrugged off my remorsefully placating hands. I know for sure that I had gone away by myself later and thought about what he said, thereby proving his point as I usually do. God, sometimes I manage to be such a fuckup. I guess most of the time actually.

 

***

 

I run my hand along his side, feeling the heat rising from his skin through the rough calluses of my hand and the air between us pressing against my face. The smooth planes of his back are nearly mesmerizing and I am surprised, yet again, at how compelling I find his body.  He is slim, but lightly muscled, the sinewy lines of his limbs fit him perfectly. I study the curve of his ass, the only part of his body that is not harshly angular, but it too is firm and well-proportioned. He shifts awkwardly and casts a glance over his shoulder at me and though his eyes are distant, I can tell he wants me to get on with it. It would surprise him, I think, to know that I find him beautiful, far more than it surprises me. There is much in life I find difficult or uncomfortable, but this physical dance between two people, be they male or female, has never been one of them.

 

***

 

He has stopped touching me and I turn to look back at him, wondering why. He is staring at me and I am curious, once again, what he thinks of me. I have always found it difficult to relate to people, always a step too aloof or a shade too intense. Too close or too far, never quite the right distance from anyone. But he has always been particularly challenging. I remember the first time I stood in front of him, the first time that we were alone together. He can make me feel so small, so childish. It makes me want to lash out but even there he has me beat and me with nearly a half a foot on him. So I take pride where I can and flaunt the songwriting, the guitar playing in front of him. And so we fight like cats and dogs. Sometimes I think he takes pleasure in it, in pressing the buttons very few people know as well as he does. But then, there is always that confused hurt in his eyes when I fight back as best as I know how and I wonder if we are playing the same game. I wonder if he plays games at all.

 

***

 

I gaze into the blue depth of his eyes and imagine I can see his thoughts flickering there, flitting through the shadowed darkness like fish in a crystal clear pool. I sigh and duck my head, breathing deeply. His scent surrounds me and he smells like the metallic tang of electronics laced with the smoky chemical bite of scotch and, fainter and lower, the heady musk of arousal. I lick a long line from the base of his neck to the beginning of the curve of his rear and he gasps and pushes back into my tongue. He tastes salty and the coolness of evaporating saliva contrasts sharply with the burning fire of the rest of his skin. My tongue swirls lower and deeper, drawing more moans from the other man that shoot straight to my cock. It aches for him and the strain is nearly more than I can bear, but I urge patience to myself. I run my tongue from the base of his balls to the tight pucker of his opening, focusing on each centimeter of my progress. Here the musk in darker and wilder and only through supreme self-control do I keep myself from rutting against his leg in abandon. I probe him open, working with a strong, steady rhythm that leaves the muscles of my mouth aching and him forcing back onto me jerkily. He calls my name and the vulnerability of his cry, so unlike his typical imperialness, breaks my heart wide open and spills the contents out at his feet. There is so little he needs to do to make me irrevocably his.

 

***

 

I wonder sometimes how it ever happened that we fell together like this. So many intense emotions between the two of us. Jealousy. Anger. Resentment and mistrust. I suppose it was only natural that with all the raised voices, the heated arguments, the flushed faces and pounding hearts, that emotional arousal would deepen into arousal of a baser kind. One moment I wanted to bash his face in, the next I noticed the curious beauty of that very same face and the way his mouth parted slightly with the force of his labored breathing, the glistening slide of his tongue across his delicate upper lip. After that first time, it became easier and easier. I find myself wondering if I deliberately provoke him in order to hasten the inevitable fucking that follows. But then, I have to admit that it is the times like this when no harsh words are spoken, when we fall together simply and easily that I treasure the most and leave me aching and raw with some emotion that is not so simple to define as mere hate or lust.

 

***

 

I work my fingers into him with slow deliberateness. I am not always a patient man, but it this I can relish the sensations of the journey just as well as the brief but admittedly intense pleasure of the completion. The feel of his insides is all burning hot slickness and a smooth slide that nearly seems to beg for deeper penetration. I graze the spongy firmness of his prostate and pull back. There was just enough contact to make him writhe against the clean white sheets of my bed and try to thrust back onto me. My cock aches with the need to fill him, but I ignore it as I work another finger into him against the taut resistance of his muscles. We move together for what seems like hours. I can tell he wants to beg, lifting himself up off the bed and onto all fours, but as usual he is too proud to. I caress the length of his shaft lightly and then more firmly making him jump in surprise and impale himself deeper. Finally, I pull my hand free and position myself against him before he can mourn the loss. I bury my cock in him slowly, gauging my speed against his reactions, moving carefully as he tenses and pushing further as he relaxes. The sudden onslaught of sensation nearly swamps my resolve and I pause and gasp. He wraps a hand around my hand that is still loosely clasped around his weeping cock and the sight breaks me. I fuck him with abandon. At first his body is rigid against the invasion, but as my rhythm catches and holds, he cannot help but respond to me. In the end, it is his completion spilling out in spurts over my hand that finishes me. I shove into him as deeply as possible, longing for a taste of that ephemeral connection and cry out for him. After a timeless moment, we fall apart, alone again in our recovery. I have poured out everything that I am and desire and need and I find that I cannot think at all. We share a kiss, lazy and sweet, and for once, he looks back at me and the only thing I see behind his eyes is him absorbed in me and my reflection on the glassy surface of his eyes.

 

***

 

I float on the waves of my slowly retreating pleasure and for once allow myself to simply _be_. I kiss him, casually and yet thoroughly, and taste the salty sweetness of his mouth. He is so many things, but in this instant, he is sunshine and completeness and the still emptiness of a mind deep in meditation. For a moment, I am free.

 

***


End file.
